


The Quarter Quell

by Moonlightkitten



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Also Donna is a badass, Also Romance, Basically takes all of the who characters and throws them into the Hunger Games, F/M, Surprisingly fluffy for a fic about kids fighting to the death.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlightkitten/pseuds/Moonlightkitten
Summary: When John's best friend Clara is drawn in the Reaping for the 75th Hunger Games, John volunteers to join her in the Games and protect her.But when he discovers that Melody Pond, John's childhood best friend whom he thought was dead, is also a tribute from another district, things begin to get complicated.Melody, who is calling herself River Song now, apparently has no memory of John or her parents. Not to mention that she suddenly ended up in a different District. Can he get Melody to trust him? Save Clara? And somehow still win?To make matters worse, tensions are growing higher between the Districts and the Capitol. And it's the Quarter Quell, so Snow no doubt has something horrible planned for the Games.If only John knew just what it was.





	The Quarter Quell

“Alright, everyone! Who’s ready?”

 

A weak cheer trickled lamely through the crowd. 

 

“I  _ said,  _ WHO’S READY FOR ME TO DRAW THE TRIBUTES FROM DISTRICT 11?” bellowed the plump, angry woman on the platform.

_ What was the woman’s name again? She had said it before, but he had forgotten… it was Diana or something like that.  _  Clara nudged John and rolled her eyes, giggling. He mustered a weak smile. 

 

“Alright then, shall we start with the girls?” 

 

The woman took her sweet time fishing around in the jar, until, with a determined face, she snatched a slip of paper from the very middle between her index finger and thumb.

 

“Attention, everyone! Look this way! OI, you in the back with the bow tie talking to that brunette, PAY ATTENTION! Anyway, the female tribute from District 11 is…” she unfolded the slip of paper… “Can I get a drumroll, please? Alright, ready? THE FEMALE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 11 IS A MISS CLARA OSWIN OSWALD!” 

_ No.  _

 

Beside him, John felt Clara go stiff. He tried to process the words, numb with shock. 

 

_ No, not Clara… it couldn’t be Clara, it couldn’t! No no no no no no no no no no no! That wasn’t possible… she would die… his best friend in the whole world would die…  _

 

“Where’s Clara Oswald? Can Clara Oswald come up here to the platform? That’s right, come on up… Oh, look, it’s our brunette that was goofing off in the back. You’d better pay better attention than that during the Games, missy.” 

 

He felt Clara leave his side, her ice-cold skin suddenly vanishing, and he choked out a sob. 

 

_ Not Clara! He had to save Clara! He had to make sure he was with her. He had to go into that arena… he had to protect her! _

 

“ALLLLRIGHT! Hush, everyone. It’s time to draw the male tribute now. Which lucky boy from District 11 gets to carry on Panem’s age-old tradition of--”

 

“I VOLUNTEER!” screamed John, without even realizing he was doing it. 

 

“What?” The woman on the platform paused, confused. “What do you mean, ‘you volunteer’?” 

 

“I volunteer as tribute,” he gasped out, shoving his way through the crowd to get to the platform.

 

“NO!” screeched Clara, trying to push him away. “John, you  _ can’t!”  _

 

“Oi, sit down, both of you impudent children,” yelled the woman, tossing her red hair angrily. “I haven’t even  _ finished  _ my speech yet, and you can’t volunteer until I’ve drawn the name.”

 

“It doesn’t  _ matter  _ who it is,” insisted John, climbing the steps to the platform, “because I’ll volunteer anyway.” 

 

“Well, _I DON’T CARE!_ This damn speech is the _only_ job I have, so you’d better just sit down and let me finish it!” 

 

Sighing, John plopped down on the stairs to the platform. 

 

“Dammit, I don’t get paid enough for this nonsense,” muttered the redhead, apparently not caring that her voice was being broadcast to all Panem. “Anyway, as I was _saying,_ before I was so rudely interrupted, it’s time to draw the male tribute from District 11! Who’s ready?”

 

There was no applause. 

 

“Wow, the enthusiasm is overwhelming. Try to calm down,” she muttered drily. “Okay, THE MALE TRIBUTE FROM DISTRICT 11 IS… SOME GUY NAMED BART WIFFLE!” 

 

“I volunteer,” muttered John.

 

“Yeah, we got that. What’s your name, anyway, kid?”

 

“John Smith,” he announced, standing up. 

 

“Wow, real original. You must have cre- _ a- _ tive parents, boy. What are they, artists or something?”

 

“They’re dead,” he whispered, staring at his shoes. “John Smith is the name the orphanage assigned me.” 

 

“Oh.” For the first time, the woman seemed at a loss for words. “I’m sorry.” 

 

He nodded glumly. 

 

“Well,  _ anyway, _ if for some reason anybody has any goodbyes to say to either Clara or John, you can visit them from 4:00 to 7:00  _ tonight.  _ I’m so glad everybody was here to witness this historic day!” She paused for a second and snorted. “Kidding. Like I care. I have a life, for chrissakes. Well, see you, everyone. I’m Donna Noble here from District Eleven! GOODBYE AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!”

  
  
  
  


************************************************************************** 

 

Nobody was prepared for the influx of visitors for John, least of all John himself. Thousands of people lined up outside of the building where he and Clara were being held. 

 

Literally. 

 

Pretty much half of District Eleven appeared to be there, although, due to the chaos and the time crunch, Donna had decided to restrict the number of visitors, despite John’s protests. (“Yeah, yeah, I have enough to do without having to accommodate for your bloody  _ celebrity,  _ apparently. How the hell do you have so many friends?”) 

 

Well, excuse  _ him  _ for having saved so many lives. 

 

Fair or not, Donna had decreed that only two visitors would be allowed to see him and Clara, each. 

 

He had no doubt which two he would pick. 

 

“God, John,” hissed Amy as soon as she and Rory entered the room, accompanied by several Peacekeepers.“What do you think you’re doing in the  _ Hunger Games?  _ That was a bloody stupid idea, volunteering--”

 

“I can win--”

 

“No you can’t, you’re too soft, you aren’t going to bloody kill anyone, and they won’t have any computers for you to hack so I don’t see how--”

 

“Amy,” interrupted Rory, “leave the poor boy alone. God knows what he’s going through right now.” 

 

“Yeah, well, he’s going to go through a lot more once he watches the footage of the  _ other  _ Reapings.” 

 

“ _ Amy--”  _

 

“What?” asked John, curiously, raising an (almost non-existent) eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  
“Oh,” muttered Rory. “It’s really nothing.” 

 

“Shut up, Stupid Face, he has a right to know.” Amy sighed. “It’s nothing. Just that one of the tributes from-- I think it was District One, yeah, District One-- really looked like,” she swallowed, “well, she looked like Melody, that’s all.” 

 

John flinched. They had had an unspoken agreement never to mention Melody again. It was too painful, frankly, and it was better when they could just pretend that Amy and Rory’s daughter had never existed in the first place. It had been five years, after all,  _ five whole years  _ since the little eleven-year-old girl had been killed. 

 

The Ponds and John were trying to move on. 

 

“Anyway,” continued Amy, biting her lip, “if she, you know,  _ comes after you with a knife, _ don’t just stand there and let it happen just because she looks like the girl who used to be your best friend.” 

 

“Also, do  _ not  _ try to go to the Cornucopia, you’re too soft,” added Rory. 

 

“Right,” agreed Amy. “Go ahead and ally yourself with Clara, but just realize that one of you is going to have to die if the other one is going to live. Look at me, John.” 

  
She tilted his face up so that his eyes met hers. 

 

“If it ever comes down to just you and Clara, I know that you’re going to try to let her win, because I  _ know you,  _ Raggedy Man.” She cleared her throat. “But I also know Clara. She’d sacrifice herself for you in a heartbeat. Obviously, I would want  _ you  _ to win.”

 

John glanced away. 

 

“Listen to Amy,” put in Rory firmly. “If it comes down to it, what she means is that we  _ can’t  _ have a repeat of last year’s games. That trick that those kids pulled last year, committing suicide with the berries- well, I don’t have to tell you twice. You watched the Capitol torture their families, same as I did. And they punished the entire District Twelve. I wouldn’t want  _ your  _ bodies paraded through the streets, like Katniss’s and Peeta’s were. And the Capitol  _ needs  _ a victor. They’re mad as hell right now that they got none last year.”

  
“So see to it that  _ somebody  _ wins,” Amy finished for him. Her eyes softened. “And John? You’re our only family right now. Practically our son. So see to it that the winner is  _ you.  _ We’re counting on you, Raggedy Man.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so if anybody is following my Star Wars fanfic Hairdresser, yes! I will finish it at some point... I'm just not sure when. :)


End file.
